The New Riders
by itchy magee
Summary: Twenty years after the revolution Alegaesia, a new story begins with the unlikeliest of heroes: a clumsy human girl, a Kull with more brain than brawn, and a dwarf with a fear of heights...
1. Chapter 1

The day was hot. Lina squinted past her red hair as the hot wind blew it across her face. Her father's crops may not survive this draught. The young girl of fifteen walked back into her family's home and continued her cleaning. She was a rather clumsy girl, so much so that her parents looked down on her for it. She never seemed to be able to do much of anything right the first time. She and her younger brother lived in a small village outside of the newly reformed city of Ilirea, with their parents, living off of their father's small plot of land and their one cow and five hens and mule.  
"Child, what are you doing?" Lina's mother appeared in the doorway, a bowl of water in her hands.  
"Cleaning?" Lina asked, unsure of her mother's meaning.  
"The house is clean enough child, wash up and change your dress this instant!" and she bustled by Lina.

Of course, how could she forget? Today was a big day for their tiny family. Lina's mother, Sadie, had been to a street-side "seer" who told her that her most worthy child would be chosen for something life-altering. Lina's family, who worshipped their son Damon, believed that what the seer was referring to was one of the upcoming dragon eggs choosing him as a Rider. Damon, who was only eleven, reveled in his parents' attention, and believed full-heartedly the "prophecy" revealed to his mother.

In no time at all, the family was washed up and dressed in their nicest clothes. They piled into their father's wagon, pulled by their old mule Bailey, and slowly headed towards the slowly filling city of Iliria….

Krog walked through the village of his people in the early morning light. He breathed in deeply, absorbing the smell of the morning, and preparing himself for the hunt he was about to embark upon. This was no ordinary hunt, Krog had been on many hunts before, since he could walk he'd been stalking the forest with a bow and arrows. No, this was the hunt for all young hunters, he and his fellow young-bloods were to venture out alone, and kill the largest beast they could find…with no weapons.

He met with the three other young-bloods at the edge of the village, along with the tribe's elders, and their chief. The other young-bloods looked at him and scoffed. Krog was large, larger than most other beings in Alegaesia, but in his clan he was sneered at and picked on for being a runt. And the strange thing was, Krog had no desire to prove himself as the toughest or strongest, but asked questions, and sought knowledge. For this, also, he was picked on and bullied. The group elders prayed to their gods for the young-bloods' first hunt, and the chief bade them farewell as the group sprinted out into the forest.

The young Kull sprinted out into the thick forest, surprisingly quiet for their immense size. The largest of them, Grung naturally took the lead, the rest falling behind, Krog in the back. They spotted a large bear and her cubs, Grung immediately thundered forwards, and began provoking the bear, to make the fight more interesting. After a not-so-eventful fight, Grung and the other young-bloods had the bear and her cubs dead at his feet. As they travelled back through the forest with their kill, they all smelled something. Humans and elves and horses. Grung ordered them all to hide in the brush alongside the trail. As the caravan of six horses rode by, completely unaware of what was stalking them, Krog noticed something. He noticed the way that the humans and elves were dressed, as well as the parcel one of the elves was carrying on his lap. Before Grung could utter the command to attack, Krog signaled him to stop, and left the brushes, cautiously addressing the riders that he was a friend.

Orin was not at all excited about this whole "dragon" ordeal.  
"Dwarves are meant to stay underground. Where everything is solid and stable." He said as his mother preened over him. Orin was only fifteen, still very much a child by dwarf reckoning, but it was decreed that all children from ages eight to fifteen must attend the "hatching ceremony", even though very little hatching had actually occurred in the last twenty years. Orin was simply glad that this was the last of those blasted ceremonies that he'd have to attend. He sighed loudly as his mother looked him over once more to see if he was worthy of a dragon. She had put small braids in his short beard, and had combed his coarse brown hair over and over to ensure that it would stay untangled and looking neat. Orin's mother had gone to great lengths to ensure he looked his best, buying a finely made deep green tunic, and fine leather belt. She'd had some trouble though, Orin was tall for a dwarf, and even at only fifteen, surpassed the height of many dwarf men. However, when men and elves came to visit them in the vast city of Tronjheim, he was still small by their standards.

"There," his mother smiled as she straightened out his tunic, "fit to be a Rider. Your father would have been so proud." Her wrinkled eyes began to water as she looked at her only son. Her only son felt like a small child's doll. The two left their small home built into the inside wall of the mountain. Orin, as strong and brave a lad as ever there was, became suddenly nervous. He looked six feet in front of him at the unguarded edge of the walkway that ran along the side of the mountain. Below them was about a hundred foot drop to the floor below. His mother eased him along as his petrifying fear of heights threatened to render him immovable. It would be a long while before they could finally get to the ground level of the city where the ceremony would be held.


	2. A New Rider Is Born: Lina

Everyone was gathered in the streets of Iliria, residents of the city, as well as members of small surrounding communities, such as Lina's family. She and her brother were both standing in an enormous line stretching from the city gates, all the way to a regal, raised platform in the center of the city. The high queen Nasuada, dressed in a beautiful gown stood with six ferocious looking warriors, several men and women in black robes bearing a silver hand, and four finely dressed elves. All were surrounding a raised dais with an open box atop it. Nestled in the box were two shining eggs, one much larger than the other. From where Lina was standing (which was very far from the eggs, indeed) the eggs looked to be a pearly white color, however, several hours later, when she was closer, she saw that the larger one was actually a light shade of gray, and the smaller had accents of deep purple.

Due to the ungodly amount of children between the ages of 8 and 15, the ceremony, whenever it was held, was made into a festival, so that those waiting in line or simply waiting around had things to buy, food to eat, and spectacles to see. The way the ceremony ran was, approach the dais, give a bow or curtsey to the queen and the elves, lay your hand on one egg, then the other, and if nothing happens, bow or curtsey again, and leave. In the last twenty years, ten children from the city of Iliria were hatched for. It seemed that it was highly unlikely that it would happen again this year. Least of all for Lina the Clumsy. As she and her brother moved up in line, a mere five children away from the dais, Lina saw as her parents pushed their way to the front of the crowd, so that they could see their son be chosen. Finally, it was his time, Damon walked smoothly up the steps, gave a curt bow to the high queen, and a great swooping bow to the elves, just like their mother had taught him. He then slowly approached the eggs, and raised his hand. Lina noticed him slightly hesitate with his hand hovering over the larger egg. She knew that in that instant his selfish, young mind was considering all the positive and negative repercussions of becoming a Rider. She too began to wonder what his life would be like, linked to a dragon, and given all respect and power. She wasn't sure she wanted that for her little brother, selfish though he may be.

Damon finally laid his hand upon the egg, Lina and her parents looking on eagerly. The egg stood still. No magic made itself apparent, the elves and Damon all seemed as they were before. At the elves' urging, Damon removed his hand from one egg, and placed it on the other. It seemed an eternity for their small family, all watching in earnest to see if the street-side seer's prophecy would be fulfilled. When the elves urged Damon to remove his hand and exit the stage, the young lad almost forgot to bow before leaving. Lina couldn't see her brother's face before she was urged rudely by those behind her to ascend the platform. Every time she did this, her body responded the same way, her heart beating madly, a light sweat beading on her forehead, her cheeks flushing. Those who knew her were just waiting for her to do something foolish, she was sure. But this was her last year, she reassured herself, never again will she have to be subject to this silly nonsense.

Lina slowly walked up the steps, she was sure she was walking entirely too slow, and stood an awkward distance from the elves and the eggs. She looked nervously over at the High Queen, who seemed a little tired, and very bored, and her extremely intimidating guard consisting of four men, two enormous Kull, and two dwarves. The members of the Silver Hand were no more inviting. One of the elves cleared their throats and Lina realized that she needed to curtsey. Her hands and knees began to shake as she performed the most awkward and long curtsey of her career as local clumsy girl. Her curtsey towards the elves was no less awkward. She then approached the eggs a little too quickly, ready to get this over with and get off the stage. She placed her hand on the larger egg. It was warm, and smooth and beautiful to behold. However, nothing happened as her small hand lay on the egg. She looked at the elves for any sign or signal that she should proceed to the next egg. But none was found. So she slowly removed her hand, eyes still on the elves, and hesitantly put her hand on the smaller, purple-flecked one.

Nothing seemed to happen. Lina stood there with her hand on the egg, waiting, and was about to remove her hand and attempt to not botch her next two curtseys, when several things happened in that moment. The four elves' expressions changed as if someone had cried out in a silent room. Lina suddenly felt a strange sensation in her chest, a longing, and protective feeling. The Queen and her Silver Hand must have noticed the change as well, for their expressions changed soon after. Immediately, two of the elves stepped forward and stood on either side of her, facing the crowd. That was when Lina realized one of her worst fears, the entirety of the city of Iliria staring at her. She searched for the faces of her parents, who had expressions of blatant surprise on their faces, her mother's mouth even hanging open in shock. She looked further and found her brother who looked incredulously at her from the throngs below. The elf to her right, a tall male, announced joyously,  
"People of the fair city of Iliria, one of your children has been chosen to learn the ways of the Riders, and defend your freedoms! A new Rider has been born!"  
Many of the people gathered cheered and clapped for Lina's joyous circumstance. Lina even smiled and felt her heart soaring, until she found her parents who were not cheering, but rather, were pushing their way through the crowd away from their daughter.


	3. A New Rider Is Born: Krog

Krog knew he'd suffer for his impudence later; telling Grung "no" meant a challenge from him for dominance. But for now, all of that was on hold. Now, it was time for the hatching ceremony. Krog loved when the elves and humans came to his village, he was often able to pull them aside and ask them questions. At first, they were startled by a Kull with such manners and a desire for knowledge, however, they became pleased with his hunger for knowledge, and sated his appetite happily. The young-bloods had carted their kill back to the village while accompanying the party of elves and humans, Krog making polite conversation the whole way. When they reached the village, the young-bloods presented their kill to the chief and clan elders, who deemed it a fine enough kill. As the kill was taken away to be prepared as a feast, the chief turned his attention to the travelling emissaries. He and the elders greeted them happily and in the Urgal's traditional rough manner.

Many of the younglings from surrounding villages had arrived, and soon, there was a line running the length of Krog's people's settlement. There were never many younglings at any one time in Urgal clans, so the hatching ceremonies never took more than several hours. Even then, the ceremony could be over in two hours, were it not for the fighting that constantly broke out between young rams and ewes in line, fighting for who should be in front of who. Krog did not favor violence, and though it was in his nature to smash, beat, and kill, when another ram tried to challenge him, he used his size and strength to avoid hitting and to avoid being hit. Even then (more often than not) he managed to end those silly confrontations with his words, his logic far surpassing those around him.

As he grew closer to the front of the line, Krog wondered what would happen, were he to be chosen. He knew not where the dragons and their riders went after they were bonded. In fact, the only thing he knew about Riders was from what he'd learned from his mentor (one of the village leaders named Goro), and what he'd learned from talking to the elves and humans. He knew that it wasn't until the great Eragon Shadeslayer had bargained with the spirit of the dragons all but twenty years ago, that the Urgals and Kull were allowed to be chosen as Riders. He knew the general gist of what had happened in the uprising that had taken place seven years before his birth, and he knew about the Games and how they came to be. But still, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him were he to become a Rider.

Finally, it was his turn. Normally there were two eggs to be chosen from at a time, but this year, there was but one; a large, oval egg with a gray tint to its gleaming surface. He walked up to the egg, surrounded by the finely dressed elves and humans. Shorter than most of his Kull brethren, Krog still towered over those of other races. He placed his clawed hand on the softly shining surface of the egg, and waited. In the history of his people, there had been only one other of his race to be chosen by a dragon; an Urgal by the name of Azog. As his mind wandered, thinking about Azog the great and his green dragon, Rugza, the elves' expressions and demeanors had changed. He snapped out of his train of thought when he noticed two of them smiling up at him. Krog looked down at the egg and something, suddenly began to rise in his chest; a strange feeling, a mix of love and protection. Two of the elves stepped forward and turned Krog around to face the gathered Urgals and Kull. The elf to his right spoke to the throng in the native tongue of the Urgals, his accent a little too delicate,  
"People of the mighty clans of the north, one of your children has been chosen to learn the ways of the Riders, and to bring you much honor and glory! A new Rider has been born!"

His gathered clansmen and their neighboring clanspeople that had gathered all began to roar and cheer and stamp the ground, several fights breaking out, of course. Krog was dizzy with excitement, and hadn't quite grasped the fact that his entire life was about to change. He barely noticed his father make his way from the throngs up to his son. The great Nar Garzvhog towered over Krog and the elves and humans gathered around the egg. Nar Garzvhog addressed the smallest and weakest and youngest of his sons in their native tongue,  
"My son, you have never been strong, and you think and talk far too much. I am glad that this dragon has chosen you, so that you may bring your father and your clan much glory."  
He then grabbed Krog's wrist and held his arm up and roared triumphantly out at the crowd, who then responded with a loud and triumphant roar.


	4. A New Rider Is Born: Orin

Orin stood impatiently in line at the hatching ceremony held in the great and majestic Tronjeim. Orin stood, uncomfortable in his itchy, tight new clothes, growing hot from all the dwarves crowding around him and the other younglings. As he stood, silently cursing these stupid ceremonies, a rather attractive dwarf girl standing in front of him looked up at him and asked,  
"Do you think one of us will get chosen?"  
As he stood there, tongue-tied, he remembered that, in the last twenty years since the Great Eragon Shadeslayer manipulated the Dragon's magic to allow dwarves and Urgals to be chosen by young dragons to be Riders, there had been a startlingly large amount of dwarves that had been chosen. So yes, it was very likely that one of them today would be chosen by one of the two eggs.  
"Um…yeah." Was all Orin could stutter out. Her bright green eyes shone up at him as she smiled, her smile so beautiful, he just wanted to lean down and close the distance between their lips. When she spoke again, he snapped out of it,  
"I hope I get chosen." She looked hopefully at the two eggs on the raised dais ahead of them.  
Orin hoped she didn't. He rather hoped that neither of them were chosen, and that after this whole messy ordeal, he could ask her to dinner.

Sooner than he expected, Orin was just a few dwarf children away from the dais and the eggs. He looked up at them, pearly white and gleaming in the surrounding torchlight. There were but two of them, one had a faint red tint about it, the other a faint olive color. When it was time for the girl in front of him to go up to the eggs, she turned and winked up at him,  
"Wish me luck." Then walked purposefully up the steps to the dais with the two eggs perched upon it. Orin watched with a surprising amount of suspense, as the auburn haired girl curtseyed to the elves present and raised her hand to the egg with the red tint. For what seemed an eternity, nothing happened, and Orin was sure that they would leave this ordeal arm in arm, when suddenly, two of the elves stepped forward, bringing the girl with them. Orin could barely believe his eyes, nor his ears, when one of the elves spoke into the suddenly silent chasm of Tronjeim,  
"People of the great and fair city of Tronjeim, one of your children has been chosen to learn the ways of the Riders, and defend your freedoms! A new Rider has been born!"

Orin's mouth stood slightly agape, and watched as the girl's green eyes watered up and her brilliant white teeth flash in the torchlight as she smiled and laughed with glee. Orin's ears rang with the sound of the cheering coming from her particular clan gathered somewhere nearby. Orin knew that if one egg was chosen, the other still had to finish the "hatching ceremony", but he was sure that with all of the pomp and ceremony going on, that they'd forget it was his turn. He cursed the girl's luck as her family and clan leaders came up onto the stage and began speaking with the elves. He'd never get out of there! He'd be stuck waiting for hours! He wished he could just get up there, touch the stupid egg and go home. The clans were evenly divided on the topic of the hatching ceremony. Half were excited and overjoyed that their children had the opportunity to bond with a dragon and to unite all the races of Alegaesia! The other half felt more as Orin did, that dwarves were meant to stay underground, where everything is solid and stable. But the high king Orik had decreed that it was necessary for all clans to have their children participate, so that no dragon went unhatched.

Orin felt silly, he was upset that he couldn't take a girl, whose name he didn't even know, out to dinner. What did he expect? An immediate marriage proposal? And besides, he should feel glad for her, she got what she wanted, right? Her family and clan were even glad for her.

"Young sir?" one of the elves beckoned. Orrin looked up and was surprised to see that the girl, the egg, and her clansmen had all moved off the stage and were chattering loudly from somewhere behind the dais. He walked up and gave a bow to the elves assembled, and stared at the green-tinted egg for a moment. This was even better, he thought, only one egg this time. All he had to do was put his hand on it, bow again and leave, never to return to that blasted dais! He stepped forward purposefully, and placed his hand on the smooth surface of the egg. Right as Orrin was about to remove his hand, he felt a desire to throw his previous plan to the wind, and stay there with the egg. He felt a strange, warm sensation in his chest that urged him to stay, and keep the egg, no matter what the cost. He looked up, and saw that the elves were all staring incredulously at him. Orrin was taken aback, had he broken some cardinal rule amongst the elves, to never touch a dragon's egg for too long?

He felt his heart stop beating when he figured out what was happening. The same two elves came up beside him, and they all together faced the dwarves gathered in Tronjeim. The elf seemed to hesitate, and stumble over his normally honeyed words.  
"People of the great and fair city of Tronjeim, yet another one of your children has been chosen to learn the ways of the Riders, and defend your freedoms! A new Rider has been born!"


	5. What Happens Now? Lina

After all of the fuss over her being chosen, Lina found herself a guest of the Queen that night. She had been escorted off of the raised dais, along with the egg; or was it _her_ egg? That evening, the Queen's council organized a small, but extravagant feast for Lina and the elves. The feast was mainly vegetable-based, to suit the elves vegetarianism. Lina sat at the grand dining table of polished mahogany, holding beautiful silver and gold and crystal goblets silver platters edged with gold, upon which were beautifully arranged salads and grilled vegetables, and more of the like. Lina could barely eat, or even comprehend what was going on. She just stared blankly at her, undoubtedly expensive, silver plate, topped with greens. She racked her brain for any information involving Riders. She remembered that not only were Riders nearly undefeatable on the field of battle, but were also extremely skilled in magic. Lina had never been able to do anything resembling magic, nor had she ever really witnessed any use of magic, other than the kind used to entertain-

_CRREEEAAAKK!_ The grand doors at the far end of the hall opened, quicker than the old hinges would have liked, and in strolled a short figure, a woman. As she walked closer, proud as can be, Lina noticed a small animal, a cat, trailing at her heels. As she approached, none of the Queen's guard made any move to intercept her. She stopped at the foot of the table, eight feet from Lina, and gave a deep bow, one that put Damon's to shame. She arose, and said in a rough voice,  
"Pardon me lateness your Grace, but… you know….worbygunkles." she cackled, a warm smile creasing her face, and instantly Lina knew, this must be the famous Angela.  
"Please," the Queen's face was graced with a smile, "your arrival is most welcome."

The plump woman, with her wiry gray hair and strange-looking dress, nodded happily and sat in the empty seat across the table from Lina. She immediately set to piling greens on her plate; mountains of broiled potato wedges, forests of lettuce, spinach leaves, and broccoli, two thick slices of bread, topped with a thick layer of golden hummus, a bowl of the elves' thick, green soup, and a hearty goblet of spiced red wine to wash it all down with. The stout woman consumed this all (sharing with her feline companion), and then helped herself to more. As she sipped at her second bowl of soup, she noticed Lina staring at her. Over the low hum of humans and elves conversing, she said to her,  
"You don't know how to make head or tail of this do you?"  
Lina shook her head as the woman slurped soup loudly from her spoon. The herbalist put her spoon down, and wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin, and said,  
"Come on dear, you're not going to eat the rest of that until your little mind's been put at ease."

The two gained leave from the Queen to leave the table, and Lina followed Angela out of the dining hall, her small companion not far behind. They walked about the grand passageways of the palace, and Angela answered all of her questions as directly as her queer ways would allow.  
"When will the dragon hatch? Will I be able to use magic? I've never been able to use magic before. Where will we go for training? Will we get to meet Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales?"  
"Hush child." Angela chided, "You'd wake the toadstools of Forlingü with all that chatter."  
The herbalist's strange comment was lost to Lina, and she was silenced by her own confusion. Angela went on, at length, about what was to become of her. The following day, she would travel to Du Weldenvarden, to train with the Rider Arya, and her green dragon Firnen. And once her dragon was strong enough to make the journey, the two would then escort Lina and her dragon to the Dragon City to the west, where she would officially begin her training under Eragon and Saphira.

This was all very exciting, but Lina couldn't help but wonder,  
"But, my dragon, when will he hatch?"  
The old woman looked at her, one eyebrow raised inquisitively,  
"How d'you know it's a 'he'?" she asked.  
Lina paused for a moment, feeling silly,  
"Well, I just thought that- I mean….I don't know."  
Angela gave a wry smile and looked down at her cat,  
"Solembum my friend, I think our girl just got her first taste of magic."

Later that night, when it was time for her to retire, Lina asked if she might keep the egg in her chambers with her. The elves that would be accompanying her the following day agreed, under the condition that there be guards stationed outside her room, and that she allow them to use magic to protect them. Lina agreed whole-heartedly, and now found herself laying in her bed, larger and more comfortable than any she'd ever slept in, staring at the egg sitting on the table next to her. She stared at it, opalescent in the faint moonlight streaming through her window, its purple color now more vibrant in the darkness. As she drifted off to sleep, Lina wondered what her new dragon would be like.


	6. A Dragon and a Silver Palm: Krog

Krog's thunderous footsteps consumed his mind as he kept perfect pace with the horses that bore the elves and his dragon egg. It was nice to have his normally buzzing mind quiet for once, the physical activity was a great way to clear his mind. There had not really been much ceremony after his father announced to the clans that he was finally proud of his son. The elves bid the village elders farewell, and they were off. They were making good time; Krog was able to keep up with the horses even at a gallop. They'd be in the great forest of the elves by dusk the following day.

That night, they sat in their camp, around the fire they'd built. The elves were cooking some of the vegetables they'd brought with them, along with some that they'd gathered in the surrounding wilderness. Krog, whose diet consisted of primarily meat, was very interested in their peculiar, green dishes. However, upon tasting the blandness of the soup, and the bitterness of their golden paste, Krog realized that these were tastes he was going to need to acquire. However, Krog found that he was even more interested in the elves' magic. One of them, Sindhäl, summoned water from the ground without so much as a whisper from his lips. Another, Aundras, set a pile of wood on fire, with the utterance of one word.

"Braesungr?" Krog repeated, his rough accent butchering the word as it passed through his sharp teeth.  
The elf woman turned and looked at him, her eyebrow raised with intrigue. It was apparent that she was not accustomed to Kull or Urgals with a desire to learn.  
"Brisingr." She corrected him, stressing the vowels he'd mispronounced. Quickly adjusting his mouth, Krog repeated,  
"Brisingr." So suddenly, it startled him, he felt a small surge of energy stem from his chest, and into his hands. He lifted his large clawed hands up and looked at them, in awe. There was nothing off about them, save that they were suddenly very warm.  
"Well done." The she-elf Aundras smiled at him, and went to work prodding at the campfire.

That evening as they gathered food and prepared their dinner, Krog riddled Aundras with questions of magic, dragons, and elfish culture. All of these questions she was more than happy to answer, the other elves occasionally joining in to elaborate on one matter or another.

The whole group was smiling and joking and telling tales from their travels, when suddenly all of the elves were silenced, their smiles replaced with intensely focused faces. Krog became quiet as well, becoming worried at their sudden change, and bracing himself for whatever threat (if threat it was) to make itself apparent. Suddenly, he heard something; a small but rapid tapping noise coming from one of the elves' saddlebags. Krog was no fool, his heart leaped when he realized it was-

_SCREEAAAA!_ A loud squeal pierced the night air. Sindhäl rose, and went to where the egg was bundled up. He carefully uncovered it, and exposed the large egg rocking back and forth, the tapping noise continuing off and on. Krog rose along with the other elves, and approached the egg, however, they all allowed Krog nearest the egg, so that when the little creature arrived into the crisp night air, his rider would be the first living thing he'd lay eyes on.

As the egg shook, its black-tinted shell caught the light of the fire, all of its facets catching the light and shining different colors, like black oil in the sun. Krog was utterly fascinated by all of this, his mouth hanging half open in awe. Soon, pieces of the shell, staring out small, and growing, began to fall away, and the small dragon's snout and claws could be seen struggling to finally hatch. The little dragon gave another several squeaks, and squeals, and Krog found himself cheering the small creature on.

After struggling and struggling, the egg finally stopped moving, and the dragon fell silent. Krog was confused, what was wrong? He reached out his hand for the egg, when Aundras put her hand on his arm, and stopped him.  
"Wait," she whispered.  
Suddenly, as if the dragon had been waiting for her signal, it gave a high pitched roar, and its head burst through the top of the egg, followed by its claws, and wings. It began fiercely clawing away the egg, until the shell was in pieces around it, and the small dragon stood there, looking as fierce as can be. It looked up at Krog, a look of wonder filled its bright green eyes, and then it promptly lay down, its ferocious outbreak apparently wiping it of all energy. Its small legs shook, and its leathery wings lay on either side of it, but its gaze never left Krog's face. Krog was fascinated at the fierce beauty of this small dragon (which was about the size of a grown fox). Its scales, still moist from the fluid within the egg, were the deepest black, the membranes of its wings a dark gray color, the same as the padded palms of Krog's hands. The one thing, though, that dominated Krog's attention, was the eyes. The elves had said, in their description of dragons as a whole, that they eyes match the scale color. But this little creature's eyes were far from black; they were so green they seemed to give off their own light. Furthermore, they were the most intelligent eyes Krog had ever seen on a being with four legs. Somehow, the dragon found the energy to stand back up, and walk over the crouched Kull. Krog dwarfed the small being, but it fearlessly walked up to him and inspected him. It walked all around him sniffing and inspecting, and finally made its way back to face him. Krog reached out his left hand to touch the dragon, stopping inches from its face.

The tiny creature hesitated, and then slowly met Krog's hand with his nose. Suddenly, Krog was overcome with a sharp and searing pain in his hand. His body was built to handle pain, but this was unlike any sort of pain he'd ever endured. It burned white-hot as it spread throughout his body. And then it was gone. He lay there on the ground for a moment after the pain left him. Looking up, he saw all of the elves had gathered around him, and that even the dragon was watching him with its intelligent eyes. Krog smiled, though, he knew what had happened. He lifted his numb and itching hand up to look at it, and saw the swirling silver mark upon the gray palm of his hand.  
"The Gedwëy Ignasia." He said, in awe.


	7. Du Weldenvarden: Orin

"Dragon!" Orin said, exasperated, "Quit that and come lay down!"  
The small olive colored dragon was running and bounding about their chambers high in one of the trees of Du Weldenvarden. Orin was sitting, rather uncomfortably, on the round, nest-like bed in the center of the room, following the hatchling with his disapproving gaze as it terrorized the objects in the room. The journey from Farthen Dûr to Ellesméra had taken them roughly two weeks, during which time both his and Otho's (the auburn haired dwarf girl) dragons had hatched. His dragon was a small but sturdy olive-colored dragon. Otho's was a small and slender dragon with bright crimson scales. While Orin's dragon was something akin to a pup, with his boundless energy and desire to play, Otho's dragon was not as wild. Her intelligent crimson eyes were more scrutinous, and her demeanor, more thoughtful.

Finally, he managed to coax the small hatchling into the bed next to him, and settled in for the night. Orin was not at all pleased with his situation up in a tree. It was too far from the ground, too far from his home. They'd only just arrived that evening, and Orin already knew he was going to be miserable. He'd never really felt welcome in the presence of elves; it always seemed like they were sneering down their angled faces at him. He was lonely too, Orin had thought that he and Otho would band together; two dwarves in a city of elves. However, she had all but forsaken her own race the moment they left Farthen Dûr, asking the elves about their culture, and trying to adopt some of their ideas. Orin would not be so easily taken over.

However, having that little dragon next to him at all times gave him a sense of peace, and of belonging. He felt as though he and the little creature were each born to be in each other's company. Orin smiled at the little dragon as it curled up in a tight ball next to his stout chest, and gave a loud sigh. The moonlight shining through the east-facing window of their chambers gave the dragon a soft green glow as it shone off its scales. Orin felt the strange sensation of a presence brushing up against his consciousness that he knew to be the dragon. Orin smiled, it seemed as though the dragon were checking with its mind to be sure that Orin was still there with it. Orin couldn't help but say in a low voice,  
"I'm here little one."

The following morning, Orin was awoken by a clamor, and an impatient female voice. He opened his eyes, and saw that his dragon was bolting around their chambers wildly, trying to get Otho's red dragon to play, but to no avail. Otho, herself, was standing at the foot of his nest/bed, her small fists resting expectantly on her stout, adolescent hips. She had a stern face, as she glared down at him.  
"What are you doing?" she demanded again.  
"I _was_ sleeping." Orin said sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  
"You do realize we were supposed to meet Arya and Fírnen at dawn, right?"  
Orin looked sleepily out the eastern window of his chambers, and saw that the sun was about a dwarf's hands width from the horizon, he was maybe an hour late. He sighed loudly, grouchily rising from his warm bed, not wanting to submit to this pushy girl. He knew now that they weren't going to be as close as he'd hoped they would.  
"We're heading out," she said, beckoning her dragon to her, "you'd do well to do the same."  
As the two closed the door behind them, Orin looked down at his little hatchling, and said, exasperated,  
"Can you believe them?"  
The little one stared back up at him, cocking its serpentine head to the side, as if he knew Orin was trying to tell him something, but he just wasn't sure what.  
Orin dressed quickly, not only because he didn't want to be any later than he already was, but because he needed Otho to lead him to where Arya and Fírnen were waiting for them. He tried to finagle his way into the clothes that the elves had laid out for him. Ever since members of all of the races of the world began coming into Du Weldenvarden for their training as Riders, the elves had begun spinning elvish-styled clothes suited to the body type of each race. Orin couldn't understand why everyone was forced to wear elf clothes, and why they couldn't just allow dwarves to wear dwarf clothes. However, when he was fully dressed, and felt how freely he could move, and how, well, handsome they made him look, he began to understand what all of the fuss had been about. He forced his wiry brown hair behind his head, bound it with a leather strap, and forced a very fine-looking comb through his short beard.

Finally ready to go, he and his dragon stepped out of their door, onto the walkway that wound its way down the thick trunk of the tree they'd been staying in. Orin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and tried not to imagine tripping and falling the seemingly hundreds of feet to his early demise. Hugging the side of the tree with his back and arms, and began his slow descent to the forest floor. As he slowly made his way down the tree, his dragon gave a small, joyous roar, and jumped from the top of the walkway, gliding gracefully in circles to the forest floor below. Several minutes later, Orin finally set his foot on the solid ground. He let out a huge sigh of relief, and looked up to see Otho (who'd come back for him) standing there, along with several elves.  
"You can't be serious." she said, in the dwarf tongue. Then, almost as if for the single purpose of embarrassing him, she switched to the common tongue,  
"You're afraid of heights?"  
"So what if I am?" he said, keeping with the dwarf language. At that moment, his dragon landed ungracefully next to him with a loud _thump_.  
"How are you going to ride your dragon?" she asked in Common.  
Orin sighed loudly, "Can we please just go? Aren't we already late?"  
She sighed animatedly, looking at the nearby elves, and turned, leading him towards their new masters.

The two dwarves, their dragons riding on their shoulders, walked through the early morning forest. Orin had to admit, there was a strange sort of beauty about the forest of the elves. Each tree and plant seemed vivid and almost magical in its own way. As the tree-houses and small huts of the elves became less frequent and wild forest more common, they were all startled to feel a large and powerful consciousness brush up against all of theirs. Orin froze, he was only used to his small dragon's consciousness, and even then, he hadn't opened up his mind to it yet. But this presence demanded entry with its sheer size and power. Reluctantly, slowly, Orin began dropping his defenses around his consciousness. The presence forced its way through with ease the minute he decided to lower his defenses. Inside his head, a powerful deep voice resonated,  
"You're late."  
Orin's little dragon squirmed uncomfortably on his shoulder, shirking from the voice that was undoubtedly resonating within its poor little skull. Unless the Fair Arya of the Elves was a man, Orin was sure that this voice, this presence, belonged to the Great Fírnen. He wasn't entirely sure how to reply, so he mentally cleared his throat and thought (in the common tongue),  
"Great Master, I apologize on behalf of my dragon and myself. If we have offended the Fair Arya, or yourself in any manner, we sincerely apologize."  
The voice seemed to give a small snort of laughter,  
"A gracious answer, but not altogether necessary."

The presence withdrew, and Orin let out a loud sigh. He looked over at his companion on his shoulder, who was shaking slightly. Suddenly, the dragon leaped from his shoulder, slightly scratching Orin as he dug his claw into is shoulder, and took to the air. That was when Orin noticed that during the mental conversation with Fírnen, he'd stopped walking, and that Otho had not. She was far ahead of him, and he sprinted as fast as his abnormally long dwarf legs would carry him.

When he finally caught up with Otho, Orin was taken aback. They had arrived at their meeting place, which was magnificent to behold indeed. There was a large clearing at the edge of the forest, which stretched for a hundred feet or so, and ended in a cliff, dropping hundreds of feet down to the rest of the forest below. The view of the tops of those trees was a beautiful sight to behold. However, their masters, standing in the middle of the clearing, were even more so. The great green dragon, Fírnen, stood looking fierce and majestic all at once. He must have been ten or eleven feet at the shoulder, his long, arcing neck adding another possible six feet. At his massive clawed feet, stood Arya, just as fierce and beautiful as her great green companion, her hands on her hips, and an expectant look on her angled face. There was a fire burning outside of a small, but elegant hut, hugging the forests' edge.

Otho gave a graceful curtsey, and Orin followed with a most awkward bow, both of their dragons maintaining their looks of awe at the great Fírnen. When Orin arose from his awkward bow, he saw that Arya was smiling at them.  
"Come," she said, beckoning them, "there is much to talk about."


End file.
